The Ifrit
by HolyWaterBucketChallenge
Summary: After the trials start Sam slowly begins to unravel. Dean is forced to lean on another hunter only to discover Rim is much more than he bargained for. Rim owes John Winchester her life, so when Garth asks her to keep an eye out for Dean, she could never refuse. As Dean starts looking a little too closely, Rim can't help but wish she didn't have anything to hide. Dean x OFC.
1. The Nightmare and The Job

**The Nightmare**

It was a comforting feeling, the heat on her face and her arms. When she closed her eyes she could see the pale orange light flickering behind her eyelids and she burrowed deeper in her blankets. It was so cold out when they put her to bed, it was nice to feel the fire Dad had started in the hearth was warming up the rest of the house.

She could hear a high-pitched whining and the smell of cooking.

She thought for a moment that her father had the kettle on and that he was making breakfast, there was the sizzling smell of bacon he always made on Sunday mornings. Dad liked to make poached eggs on toast with thick slices of bacon when they could afford it…and when Mom was away on business, of course.

The kettle was feverish now, stirring her from a sound sleep. My God, it was loud!

She opened her eyes for a moment and peeked out from under her comforter. The air was thicker now. Inhaling felt like breathing in hot coals. Something was very, very wrong.

The whining wasn't the kettle, the sizzling wasn't breakfast, and the heat wasn't coming from the hearth. She opened her eyes fully and took in her surroundings - everything was ablaze. The whistling of the kettle was unbearable now, shrieking and howling.

That's when she realized it.

The kettle wasn't a kettle at all.

It had an eerily familiar face…and it was screaming, and screaming, and screaming.

* * *

 **The Job**

Rim sat bolt upright in bed in a cold sweat, nauseous and dizzy. Hot. She was hot.

Wrapping herself in the hotel bed sheet she took a few steps on the burnt orange carpet and flung open the front door to the frigid Colorado air, inhaling the crisp cold deep into her lungs. It had been years since she had thought about that day. Years since she had a 'hot flash' her father jokingly liked to call them.

They happened periodically. Being what she was, it was unavoidable. Manageable, but not entirely preventable.

She'd had them ever since she was little; her mother used to laugh and call Rim her 'little space heater' which was cute in the dead of winter. In the heat of summer, running a few degrees warmer than most was a bitch.

She reached up and pulled her hairband out of her long auburn hair and rested her head against the doorframe. Just a few more minutes.

Rim didn't like sleeping with the windows open, not to mention it was terribly unwise in her profession. On some nights, if she felt secure enough, or she felt like she had put enough distance between her and the next job, she would crack the hotel windows and let the brisk winter air caress her to sleep.

Just as Rim drew her head away from the door and took a step inside she realized she was being watched.

Across the parking lot and over the iron railing she could see a man in a green army jacket with short-ish sandy blonde hair and a swagger. He had stopped dead, mid-bite of what looked like some sort of fast food burger, staring mutely up at her. It wasn't a leer, it was a curious stare; the kind she used to get in school when someone noticed something about her wasn't quite…kosher.

She stared back, determined not to be the first to break eye contact. Then she began examining his features. Attractive, sturdy, with an athletic build. Great ass.

That's when Rim remembered the only thing standing between her and the attractive burger-creeper was a thin, white hotel sheet. Boy, was it windy out.

She slammed the door on those piercing green eyes and thought better of going back to bed. Best to pack and move on now, the job was another day's drive anyway.

Best to get started before it had a chance to snow.

* * *

 **Caught**

Dean nudged Baby's door closed with his hip, his hands busy hugging a bag of salty fries and burgers, the other busy shoveling the first of many into his stubbled face. He had been driving for a few days now, tracking omens and strange deaths near the Denver and Colorado Springs area.

Too many for it to be a coincidence.

For once he was actually a little nervous that he didn't have back up, it had been a while since he soloed a hunt. Even so, there were perks to hunting alone. He was looking forward to a hot shower and not having to share the hot water with Sammy. His not so little brother liked to hog it all so Dean usually ended up going first. It would be nice to relax and not have to look after someone, even for just a few days.

He had left Sam at the bunker to stew and recover, he hoped. It was impossible to believe just how fast he was deteriorating. No matter what Sammy told him, he knew he wasn't all right. Those damned trials were going to kill him. He couldn't even hit the targets back at the range he was so fried.

As Dean took a bite of his cheeseburger he felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck and stopped dead in the frozen parking lot of the motel. He looked around and craned his neck to peer up at the second floor rooms when a flash of red caught his eye.

It was a woman.

A very…unusual woman.

Not to say that she wasn't striking, her crimson hair catching in the streetlight, but something was _off_. She looked completely unnatural and out of place in the dirty motel. Dean couldn't quite put a finger on it. After decades of hunting he knew there was something about that woman that was just…not right.

It was only then that Dean realized she was wrapped in nothing but a bed sheet and standing in an open door in 20-degree weather. That bed sheet was just a _little_ too thin to be doing the job.

As his gaze traveled up the length of her body he abruptly realized that her eyes were locked in on him.

Watching.

Most women would have immediately ducked back into the safety of their room or done a little more to…cover themselves, but she just stared right back.

It wasn't a glare; it wasn't even accusatory.

Dean felt like a kid with his hand caught in a cookie jar, meeting her gaze. Her dark eyes seemed to communicate across the crisp expanse, _Can I help you_?

Just as suddenly as he realized she was there, she was gone. Slipped back inside with the door shut firmly behind her.

Dean realized with chagrin that he still held a burger halfway to his mouth and had half a mouthful of food un-chewed. He swallowed and rummaged in his jacket pocket for his room key.

There was something off about that girl for sure, whatever it was it could wait. A hot shower and a quick call to Sammy would put his mind to rest.


	2. Karima

**Karima**

Rim drove down the highway with her driver's side window rolled down halfway to let the smoke escape the cab. She had been doing it for so many years now she was usually down to the filter before she idly reminded herself it was probably time to quit.

It was a nasty habit, but when she spent so much time on the road alone it helped keep her awake. She had a strong feeling about this next job, it was going to be a good one.

Not some cleanup job or pathetic salt and burn of some poor lingering fucker who couldn't move on, this one had jailbreak written all over it. Ever since the gates of Hell had been opened it had certainly made the job livelier.

Rim enjoyed being the thing that the bump in the night feared. She enjoyed exorcising demons. The control she felt as her tongue played through the Latin and she saw those black eyes dissipate in a cloud of smoke made her feel powerful.

In those moments she felt like she was making a difference, like she was taking back a little bit of what had been stolen from her.

Her phone sprang to life with an opening rift from Shaman's Harvest and Rim dropped her cigarette out the car window in surprise. The only ones who had her number shouldn't have a cell phone bill. Bobby, John…even Ellen…

She looked at the screen and heaved a sigh.

It had been smashed to pieces in her most recent struggle with a witch over a hexbag. She couldn't even pretend to know who was on the other end of her flickering screen. She thought about screening the call and letting it go to voicemail, but her curiosity got the best of her.

How did that saying go…curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought him back?

"Ghostbusters, whaddaya want?" She crowed in an over-exaggerated Brooklyn accent. A timid voice answered on the other line, cutting in and out as she passed through a small town.

"If I've got my notes right this should be… Rim, this is Rim isn't it?"

"Depends on your next question." She was two seconds from pitching her phone out the window to join her cigarette.

"I'm taking over for dispatch. Someone had to do it after Bobby…anyway my name is Garth and-"

"Cute. You've got t-minus 60 seconds to convince me I should give a damn." Rim one handedly pulled another cigarette out of her pack with her chapped lips.

"Sam and Dean Winchester." Rim nearly dropped her lighter.

She hadn't heard the name Winchester in decades.

Bobby never brought it up and she'd never asked about it.

She remembered just enough to know that she didn't need to know anymore than she already did. It had been almost twenty years since John pulled her out of the fire.

Twenty years since she'd eaten poached eggs and bacon.

Twenty years since she'd been able to make herself a cup of tea without an anxiety attack crushing her chest.

Reminding her of that face. Screaming.

"I have Bobby's files here. All of them." She could hear Garth shuffling papers around on his end of the line, "I think if either Bobby or John were here themselves they would have already called but…" He trailed off, no need to finish that sentence.

"How high?" She replied quietly.

"W-What? I'm not, I swear. Sam and Dean really-" Rim was so dumfounded by his lack of common sense she briefly rested her forehead on the steering wheel before responding.

"You said jump…never mind. God, kid you've got it rough. Where are they and what am I walking into?" By the time Garth had finished catching her up to speed Rim was already headed back in the opposite direction down the highway to Denver.

She had never met the boys and for good reason. Too much to have to explain, too much to have to account for. She knew of them, of course, who didn't know of the Winchester boys.

John had always spoken fondly of them, but she certainly didn't think he'd be too proud to hear his boys were the ones who unlocked the gates of Hell.

Apparently the trials they had undergone to close the gates had taken a massive toll on Sam. So much so, that he was out of fighting shape. Dean was headed into a nest of trouble that had been circling around Denver. Strange deaths, loads of nasty omens.

The boys had called Garth, Garth had called Rim. This was going to be interesting. She wondered idly if Dean knew anything about her, if John ever mentioned that hunting trip to the boys.

They were very young, all of them, at the time. Dean must be in his…thirties now?

Rim was only a few years younger at twenty-seven, but she was old enough to know nothing good came of drudging up the past.

* * *

 **Fava Beans and a Nice Chianti**

Dean spent some quality time scrubbing three days of hard road time off in the shower and even took the time to shave. Feeling remarkably more awake he walked out of the steaming bathroom and flopped carelessly down on the bed, staring up at the tiled ceiling.

His brain immediately reverted to the mode it always did when he found he had nothing to occupy it. Check on Sammy.

Dean rolled over onto his stomach and started dialing when he saw Sam's number pop up on the caller ID. He picked up with a chipper tone.

"Beat me to the punch. Feeling any better?"

"Yeah, sure thing." Sam lied effortlessly. "I'm actually planning on heading out any minute. I've got some more information about the thing you're after in Colorado." Sam's skin was crawling and he felt perpetually dizzy and nauseous. That hadn't changed since they sent Bobby home to heaven and completed the second trial. He wasn't going to get better, why bother worrying his big brother?

"I don't think so kiddo. You're staying right where you're at." Dean's tone changed immediately. "You were barely able to stand upright when I left you and its only been a couple of days. Don't you even think about it." Sam slowed his packing down and held onto the edge of the desk in the bunker as the world started to spin.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice took on a concerned tone.

"Yeah, Dean. Okay." He sat down resolutely and put his palm up to his head, running his fingers through his hair, gripping tightly as if that would somehow help. "You're going to need back up. This thing, whatever it is, has been eating people. Well, parts anyway…"

"Yum. What parts? Hearts? Lungs? Livers?" Dean snarked.

"The latter, actually. Livers. I would have thought Rougarou or Wendigo, these things travel in the same areas, but what have we ever run into that eats livers?" Sam pondered, the thought distracting him from his immediate discomfort.

"Hannibal Lecter?" Dean mused, making the characteristic slurping.

"Cute, Dean." Sam chuckled, "Still doesn't change the fact that you're going to need someone to watch your six. It's killed seven people and counting and whatever it, they, are…they're not going after old ladies and little girls. It's eaten two police officers, a triathlete, a boxer, two hikers and another hunter."

"Yikes. It's been two weeks and its chewing through somebody every other day?"

"Yeah, the locals are spooked." Sam flipped open his laptop, his nausea temporarily subsiding, and pulled up the most recent news articles. "They've put out an official hunting party over the weekend but they're supposed to get at least two feet of snow so they're pulling everyone out of the woods."

"Well we all know the condition of _my_ liver, I should be just fine. Looks like I'm going camping!" Dean replied less than cheerfully.

"You and another hunter. I already called Garth and he agrees, you're not going alone. It already ate the last hunter that tried to go against it solo. We don't have time to argue, with the rate it's killing you need to make time now if you can. If you're going to insist I stay in the bunker then I am insisting you take a partner with you." Sam asserted. Dean couldn't argue, he knew full well Sam would be on his way to Colorado faster than a hellhound after a contract come to term.

"All right. All right, keep your pants on. Who is it? Do we know them?"

"No." Sam hesitated, not sure whether or not this would help or hurt.

"No…but…?" Dean knew his brother too well.

"No, but, Dad did. Garth mentioned Dad knew them." Sam sighed into the phone.

"Oh good, this'll be fun. Campfires and story time! Can't wait." Dean sat up on the bed, "You stick to your half of the deal and I'll stick to mine. Stay at the bunker and I'll call you with updates."

"Yup…I'll keep poking around. See if I can find what favors fava beans and a nice chianti…" Sam ended the call and set the phone down on the desk with a resigned groan, resting his head on the desk as the bunker started to spin.

Again.


	3. Hotel Bar Soap, Whiskey, Oiled Leather

**Questions**

Rim pulled the arms of the navy blazer over her white button down and tucked the shirt tail into her suit-pants. She hated business clothes, she hated wearing heels, but she did have to admit that she looked damn good.

Not much in the way of detail had surfaced in the local papers. She suspected authorities were trying to keep it quiet in hopes that they might get suspects to volunteer matching information. Not likely.

She closed the trunk of her Father's old '63 forest green Porsche 911 coupe and checked to make sure her Springfield 1911 was loaded and the safety was on.

Impersonating an officer, one of her favorite felonies.

The only problem? She was an absolute disaster in tall shoes. Rim walked across the parking lot, into the morgue, attempting to carry herself with purpose up to the front desk. All the while she kept thinking to herself - d _on't fall, don't fall, don't fall…_

"Good afternoon," she greeted the bald, middle aged man seated behind the desk inside the main office. He didn't even bother looking up. His head and respective liver spots shined brightly in the artificial light.

"Sir." Rim cleared her throat. Startled he shuffled his paperwork in a feeble attempt to look occupied. Was he _napping_?

"Yes. Yes, my apologies. How can I help?" He mumbled, looking up with a stale expression.

"Agent Crosby, here to see about the most recent casualties." She flashed her FBI badge quickly enough for him to acknowledge her credentials, but not so slowly that he could read the fine print.

"Two of you in the same afternoon?" He cocked his head, puzzled. Rim took 30 seconds to collect her thoughts before she realized who else could have arrived before she had.

 _Winchester_.

"Of course, with seven deaths in two weeks you couldn't expect us to just send one agent. Especially not with the violent nature of the crimes…" Rim trailed off expectantly waiting for him to volunteer additional information. A pregnant, awkward pause followed.

"Steve." The mortician thrust out his hand, his skin near translucent under the fluorescents.

"Pleasure." Rim took his offered, dead fish, handshake. "Shall we, Steve? Forgive me, I don't mean to rush you, but my partner and I do have a lot to catch up on." She gestured to the metal double doors over his left shoulder. Steve stood, motioning with his hand for her to follow.

Rim trailed behind the mortician who's manners apparently failed to support the idea of holding doors open. The heavy metal door to the morgue nearly clocked her across the face on the backswing.

Irritated by the lack of common courtesy, Rim roughly shoved the heavy metal door out of her way and promptly lost her balance, stumbling directly into the chest of a tall man in a black suit.

"Oh my God, I'm so sor-" She was stunned into silence as she toppled, rather ungracefully, into the arms of her attractive motel admirer.

How did she not realize the resemblance before? Of course she wasn't looking for a resemblance to John Winchester the first time that she saw him in the motel parking lot, but now she could see the ghost of his father's features as plain as day.

Dean's jaw clenched and she could see and feel the muscles in his shoulders tense. He smelled faintly of hotel bar soap, whiskey, and oiled leather.

When his piercing hazel eyes locked on hers she was suddenly grateful to have strong arms holding her steady.

* * *

 **The Doors, really?**

Dean had just finished looking over the bodies. They were in varying states of disfigurement. Some of them were mangled beyond recognition, chest cavities and abdomens flung open exposing organs, others were less viciously dissected.

The mortician clearly did his best to salvage what he could, but many of these poor bastards would be having closed caskets at their funerals. After seeing the damage, he understood why Sam wanted him to have someone sidecar this job.

Something wasn't right here.

Dean snapped the latex gloves off of his hands and tossed them unceremoniously into the garbage can. They were all missing their livers, but some of them looked torn out while others looked almost…surgically removed. He needed to see the autopsy files.

Sighing heavily he made for the metal doors so that he could pester Steve for copies to take with him back to the hotel. He was about to open the doors himself when the mortician walked in. Dean opened his mouth to ask for the paperwork when a blur of red and navy nearly bowled him over.

The metal doors swung open violently and a young woman lost her balance and staggered into Dean's chest. He managed to catch her just in time before she wiped out on the polished stone floor when he realized just who he was holding.

She was even more beautiful up close. Her auburn hair fell messily in front of her face, and her expression was one of shock, recognition, and embarrassment. When her amber brown eyes locked on his he realized in an instant that this was the other hunter he had been waiting for.

"I hope you're a better agent then you are a runway model, partner." Dean joked, trying to ease the tension in the room.

"I am so sorry!" Rim muttered and righted herself. "I just bought these shoes and I am clearly not a veteran heel wearer." She stepped out of Dean's embrace and straightened her jacket.

"Agent Crosby," She shook Dean's hand, it was still a little powdery from the gloves he had been wearing.

"Morrison." Dean returned the gesture, and the joke, before turning to Steve.

"I need your autopsy reports if you don't mind, copies of all seven victim files. Something isn't adding up here." Steve grumbled and marched back through the metal double doors without even acknowledging Dean's request.

"Morrison. The Doors, really?" Rim chuckled.

"I had to think fast, I wasn't exactly prepared for you to run me over." Dean shook his head, "Let me guess, Garth sent you?"

"You bet, I'm your backup. Karima Sundra, I go by Rim." Her face took on a pained expression. "I'm sure you hear this all the time, but you look a lot like your father Dean. He was a good man." Dean's eyes turned down to the floor and he nodded, obviously it was still a raw topic.

Rim took his reaction to mean there would likely not be much conversation around how she came to know John. The less Dean knew the better.

There was a reason Bobby and John never brought her on hunts or introduced her to the rest of the network. Explaining what she was never went over well with that crowd. Best to travel alone, avoid questions, and keep her head down. If Dean found out it wouldn't be just the hunters that would come looking for her….

"Lets not do this here. We've got a job to do and you need to take a look at these." Dean tipped his head in the direction of the drawers and pulled out the first three victims to illustrate his point.

Rim put on a pair of gloves, took off her blazer, and dug right in.


	4. Rude

It was getting darker earlier in the day and as Rim and Dean exited the mortuary. With the days growing shorter, and the predicted storm en route, it was clear that winter was approaching in full force. The sun was just drifting on the horizon, casting a golden light across the parking lot.

"I'm starving." Dean declared. Rim looked at him and raised a skeptic eyebrow.

"Seriously? I just spent an hour elbow deep in monster leavings and you're hungry?" Dean shrugged nonchalantly and cuffed her lightly on the shoulder.

"Yeah! C'mon, nothing a drink and a full stomach won't fix." He dangled the autopsy files in front of her face. "Besides, these are coming with me. If you want a peek at them you're gonna have to pull up a barstool, short stuff." Rim snatched for them and hit empty air, sighing deeply.

"Okay, you win. I'll follow you." Rim popped open the driver's side door of her 911 and Dean screwed his mouth into an incredulous smirk.

"Yeah? That's yours?" Dean asked, stripping off his black suit jacket and tossing it into the back seat of the Impala.

"No. I stole it." She snarked, "Of course it's mine. C'mon starving, lets talk about this over dinner. I want to get out of these stilts." Rim popped her trunk and threw her heels in the back of the coupe along with her blazer. She untucked her button down, slipped on a pair of black tights, pulled her skirt down over them and threw it into the trunk.

Dean watched her pull on some knee high boots over her dainty feet while she sat on the back of her car. Leaning casually on baby's half open door, he found his eyes drifting over her curves and watching as she bent over to lace up her shoes.

"You do that a lot." Rim commented, peeking out from her auburn hair, catching Dean's wandering gaze. He cleared his throat and brought his line of sight to meet hers.

"Do what?" He remarked, innocently.

"Uhhhh huh." She nodded back at him over her shoulder as she slid into the front seat of her Porsche and turned the engine over. Dean shook his head and bit his lip as he started up the engine and took the lead to the nearest pub.

* * *

Rim flicked her lighter and inhaled, opening her driver's side window to rest her elbow on the door of her coupe. He wasn't anything like what she expected, nothing like how she remembered John to be. Then again, the last time she saw Papa Winchester was when she was about seven. She could see a little bit of Bobby's influence in his mannerisms and his roughness. Dean Winchester wasn't going to be a chore to work with, that was for sure.

She pulled into a spot behind him at a pub on the main road that ran through town. As she stepped out of her car, onto the nub of her cigarette, she spotted a motel across the street. Rim saw on the neon sign that they had vacancies.

"Perfect!" She chirped over the top of her car as Dean poked his head up from the crowded parking lot. Rim gestured across the street and Dean smiled, giving her a wry wink. Rim popped open her trunk once again and snagged her laptop case out of the back before heading over to the door that Dean kindly held open for her.

"What a prince! Thank you much." She mock curtsied as she stepped over the threshold.

"Keep it up kiddo. I'll let it hit you in the ass on the way out." Rim put her hand over her mouth in mock offense.

Walking up to the bar in the center of the pub she swung her legs up onto a barstool and patted the one next to her with an open hand. Dean sidled up next to her and motioned to the bartender as he sat. He settled himself half-on half-off his chair, his knee gently grazing her thigh, and his foot resting on the bottom rung of her stool.

Rim noticed, but said nothing.

It had been ages since she had anyone to joke around with, let alone any sort of contact with someone she didn't have to feign a story or invent a persona to converse with. She felt comfortable around Dean. She wasn't quite sure why, but she assured herself that she would stop things if she started feeling herself getting _too_ comfortable.

Rim cracked open her laptop and immediately began scanning local newspapers and weather reports. She saw a few articles about the search party, nothing much had changed in the weather report. The area was still set for a severe winter storm warning and approximately two feet of snow. Rim was silently pleased with herself for changing over to her winter weather tires last week.

"…I'll have a shot and a beer," Dean ordered, looking over at Rim. She realized the bartender was waiting on her.

"I'll do a scotch, neat. Black Label if you've got it." Dean's eyebrows shot up.

"Well, well. I see we're going to get along just fine." Rim looked at him as she began scrubbing the internet for local lore that matched their monster profile.

"Hey now, I just spent a good hour up to my elbows in week old Mr. Williamschen. You tell me you wouldn't need something faintly antiseptic after that." Dean threw his hands up in mock surrender.

"Garth or your brother have any leads? I know we're the boots on the ground, but I figure Garth knew the hunter that passed. Do we have much else to go on?"

"Not that I'm aware of, I've been texting Sammy but he's got nothin." Dean tipped his head back and downed the shot and motioned to the bartender for another. "I think our best bet is going to be these." Dean patted the files and slid them across the bar to Rim, she caught them easily under her glass as she set it back down on the bar.

She pushed her laptop to the side and opened the manilla folders. Rim smelled the spice of his whiskey and oiled leather as Dean peered over her right shoulder, leaning into the space between them.

Dean Winchester, above all other things, smelled like trouble.

Focusing directly on the files before her, Rim spread out the first three victims arranging them by date. It appeared that each time the thing attacked, whatever it was, it became progressively less violent. The first victim was barely recognizable. It looked like something had torn into the poor man, all teeth and claws. The next was slightly less so, the liver removed more carefully. It was the sixth victim that was the odd one out.

"Are you seeing this?" Rim pulled the file out of the folder and laid it carefully on top of the others. "This man walked out of the forest of his own volition. He died a day after."

"Well that doesn't make any sense." Dean agreed. Rim flipped through his charts and into the documentation of the body. There was a surgical incision in the abdomen that the coroner had examined, and apparently extracted something that had been implanted there. Dean pulled the document closer to his face and flipped the page over to see exactly what they removed.

"Um. What?" Rim squinted. "I've only been up for a couple of days straight, but does that say what I think it says?"

"A stone." Dean immediately picked up the phone and dialed.

"Sammy, yeah. I'm here with her right now. We've got something we need you to look into. Apparently its not just eating parts of people, it's eating parts of people and replacing them with rocks." Rim looked at the documentation again, elbowed Dean, and and corrected him loudly.

"It looks like a river stone, not a very big one. Its replacing people's livers with them. It's not possession I don't think. It's just…." Dean put his hand up in front of her face, holding a finger over Rim's lips while he listened intently to Sam over the mild din at the bar.

Rim, who at this point was already two scotches deep on an empty stomach, leaned in and gently nipped the pad of his finger with her teeth. Dean pulled it away in a hurry and stared at her wide-eyed. Rim shrugged and opened her laptop as Dean ended the call.

"What the hell?" Dean exclaimed, not so much in anger as in surprise.

"Don't get all uppity with me, you put it there. Also, don't shush me." She mumbled into her keyboard. "Rude."

Dean shook his head incredulously, interrupted by the arrival of his dinner which he eagerly accepted. The bartender placed Rim's soup carefully next to her laptop while she was buried in her research. The bartender began to serve the next patrons when Dean stopped him with a raised eyebrow. With a surreptitious look at Rim out of the corner of his eye he motioned for one more round for the both of them.


	5. Fever

**Spearmint and Whisky**

Several hours, and many drinks later, Dean and Rim stumbled across the road. They had wisely chosen to leave their precious cars parked in the bar lot. Rim walked into the motel office with Dean leaning around her shoulders.

Carting a more than tipsy Winchester "home" was no easy feat.

Dean was much heavier than he looked.

"Good evening. We'd like to check in?" Rim nodded over her left shoulder at the neon sign flashing _Vacancy_ in the parking lot. Her right shoulder was otherwise occupied, propping up the hunter who was busy fumbling with the white and green spearmint candy on the front desk. The bored and unkempt hotel manager checked his computer screen with a blank stare.

"Sorry." He replied, simply.

"What does that mean?" Dean growled, straightening up as Rim purposefully assumed an authoritative stance. The manager's tone abruptly squashed her buzz and she could feel it evaporating quickly.

"I mean we're out of rooms." The manager reached under the desk and flicked off the neon lights outside. "We've got a lot of people in town out on the search party this week. They're all looking for the thing in the woods."

Rim, feeling feisty, looked over at Dean and placed a hand in the center of his chest as he made a move forward.

Dean, who had immediately rankled at the manager's response, deflated when she laid her hand on him. This would require a diplomatic, moderately sober, resolution.

"Funny you mention that, we're here for the same reason. I hate to do this, but we were across the street under the assumption that the home office had secured two bedrooms under the name Felicia Crosby." Rim flashed her FBI credentials that matched her fictitious persona before she continued.

"I know you don't want to deal with our home office, or the repercussions of failing to reserve space for agents on an urgent case…." Rim relayed with as much courtesy as she could muster.

The manager made a disgruntled noise.

Apparently, he wasn't exactly moved by the threat of federal disapproval.

Very well then…Rim cleared her throat and leaned across the counter, her voice taking on a tone she used rarely.

"…or the word getting out around town that FBI agents took time to come here _specifically,_ dedicating department resources to resolving this massacre, only to be told they had to drive _three_ towns over?" She shook her head disapprovingly and picked up her credentials, pocketing them smoothly.

"Can you imagine the public outcry concerning the waste of precious time that would be better served tracking down the thing that has been eating _your_ neighbors?" Rim punctuated her statement with a loud sigh. "All just to find local accommodations…."

That struck a chord.

Suddenly, Rim felt a reassuring presence to her right. Dean at his full height, regardless of his sobriety, was undoubtedly more intimidating than she was alone. He was standing next to her, doing his best to act as much the part of agent as he could while inebriated and out of uniform.

At this point the manager was absolutely squirming. His fingers flew over the keyboard on the desk and after a few moments the man looked up dejectedly, almost like he was expecting a beating.

"I'm sorry…" The manager puttered. Dean placed his crossed arms directly onto the counter and leaned in close.

" _Now,_ what are you sorry for?" His deep, low voice reverberated inside the lobby walls.

"We only have one room-" Dean cut him off before Rim even had a chance to protest

"Done. Fix it." Dean said, sliding his credit card across the counter.

* * *

 **Accommodations**

Rim followed after Dean, her mind reeling with remnants of the scotch and the warnings issued by both Bobby and John. As she felt her feet carrying her down the hall toward the hotel door, and Dean, she stopped short.

"I can't." She promptly and decisively fixed herself to the carpet. Dean chuckled and opened the door to the room, leaning heavily against the frame.

"Don't be ridiculous. Its snowing out and there's no rooms left. You can have the bed, I'll take the sofa." Rim shook her head and chuckled.

"It's not a matter of sharing a mattress." Dean's eyebrows wiggled suggestively and Rim snorted. "Yeah, no. Don't get any ideas, cowboy. I'm going to go sleep in my car."

* * *

 **Remember Who You Are**

Rim turned to open the door to the parking lot and in three steps Dean closed the distance between them.

Within seconds he had his arms securely wrapped around her torso.

Rim screeched and reflexively kicked against the hotel wall, pushing him into a column of the narrow hallway with such force that Dean felt his breath catch in his chest. Resolved to his purpose, he lifted Rim into the air once again and back to the hotel bedroom.

She kicked and fought, writhing in Dean's iron grip. Rim realized sharply that she could escape, but not without causing considerable harm to the hunter she was supposed to be protecting.

"Dean, please? This really isn't a good idea." He set her down on the bed and leaned over her, his proximity forcing her to lean back on the mattress. She could smell the spearmint candy from the lobby mixed with the whiskey and felt herself stop breathing, her blood rushing to her ears.

Dean paused, nose to nose with Rim, and grinned wolfishly.

"Dean…please?" She realized, as soon as the words left her mouth, that she wasn't quite sure of how she meant them to be taken.

The moment seemed to last much longer than it should have.

"Don't get any ideas, cowgirl." Dean abruptly yanked the pillow out from behind Rim's head. As she suddenly hit the mattress she jerked back into reality and found herself to be full of self loathing.

This was not what she came here to do. This was not what Bobby would have wanted. John….that didn't even deserve consideration.

She was never supposed to have met Dean, or any other hunter for that matter.

What she was wouldn't allow for it.

Dean stood abruptly, tossing the pillow onto the couch. Rim made to protest again and Dean shushed her, pretending to place a finger over her lips for the second time in one evening and drew it back before it made contact.

"Just's kidding. I'd like to keep all my digits." Dean chided playfully. He didn't seem to noticing the change in atmosphere. Rim's sense of embarrassment had completely deflated any lingering thoughts of friendship, or anything else for that matter.

Cautionary tales flooded back to her from childhood.

Dean asked her if she needed anything before he tucked in for the night. No response.

Now Dean seemed startled by the change in demeanor. Rim decided forcefully that it didn't matter. He would write this off as a tipsy reunion, nothing more.

She realized suddenly that not once during the evening had their conversation turned to the topic of how she knew John Winchester, or how she knew Bobby Singer.

Rim fell into a fitful sleep, dwelling on her final days with Bobby and John, she didn't have many of them.

She realized, drifting off, that she didn't really have much of anything at all.

* * *

 **Fever**

Dean woke up on the couch in a hotel with a crick in his neck and the sudden urge to throw off all of his covers.

He was sweating bullets.

Dean sat up promptly and recognized, vaguely, the hotel room that they had successfully bargained for at the front desk.

 _The thermostat must be broken._

Dean made an attempt to kick off the covers that he had on the couch, realizing from the lack of resistance that he wasn't covered in anything but a t-shirt and jeans.

"You gotta be freaking kidding me." Dean sat up, frustrated and overheated. His eyes immediately diverting to Rim who he realized was savagely tossing and turning in the bed. She had somehow managed to wriggle out of her shirt and jacket, leaving her in just tights and a sports bra.

"Rim!" He whispered urgently. Nothing, no response.

She flinched abruptly and violently, curling around herself. Mild sounds of distress escaped her parted lips while she writhed on the hotel sheets. Dean sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, not knowing how to approach the situation.

He stretched his arm up and over to her shoulder to try to gently shake her awake. All hunters, he knew, came with nightmares, restless sleep…it was the job.

Sam had had a fair few nightmares that Dean wrestled him from regularly, violently in some instances. He was prepared to do this for Rim.

However, as soon as Dean's hand touched her shoulder she arched her back and kicked him viciously, squarely in chest. Fortunately for her he was no stranger to brutality.

"Rim! C'mon sweetheart…" Dean placed both hands firmly on her and felt, for the first time, just how warm she was. He thought for sure his skin was scorched from her body heat.

"Jesus! Fuck!" Dean ripped his hands off her shoulders as she shot up in bed, gripping her handgun she held concealed under the mattress tightly in both dainty fists.

Her eyes simmered in their sockets like embers in a bonfire, bright crimson and ferocious, as she ripped herself out of her nightmare.

Dean slid, slowly and gingerly, away from her. Now he knew what caused the unnerving feeling he had when he first laid eyes on her.

When was he going to learn?

Karima Sundra seethed, her eyes dimming back to their amber warmth, her gun lowering as she realized the gravity of her situation.

"What _are_ you?"


	6. Does This Look Like Nothing To You?

**A Little Seasoning**

Rim knew she was dreaming, but that rarely made a difference in what came next. She could feel the oppressive weight settling on her mind and she couldn't shake herself awake. When the nightmares came it was usually best to ride it out, fighting it only make it worse.

She could hear someone calling from a distance, but the smoke billowed thickly in the air making it impossible to see who. Again she heard it, slowly being drowned out by the crackling and roaring of the flames. Rim could feel her throat constricting, her tongue sticking inside her mouth, choking on the ash that hung like morbid curtains in the air. She bent low to get away from the falling debris and the haze barely thinned as she felt her way along the wall.

It was her own fault she tripped, she wasn't paying any attention to where she put her feet. Her head connected roughly with the kitchen floor and a sharp pain reverberated through her skull. When she opened her eyes she found herself staring into a familiar face.

His mouth remained half open in a silent cry, teeth gleaming in the firelight. A stark contrast against the blackened and scorched skin. He lay on the floor, his arm outstretched towards her, grasping at the open air. She was glad that this time as she relived it she didn't have to watch him die, he was already gone.

Orange flames licked across her father's torso, consuming him.

* * *

Suddenly she felt hands on her shoulders and before Rim could even open her eyes she felt her fingers curling around the familiar weight of her 1911. As she wrenched herself awake and shot up against the headboard she saw a face in the dark hotel room. It took her a moment to regain her bearings.

 _Oh my God._

 _Dean._

He was wide eyed and cautiously backing away from the bed. He pressed his lips together in a thin white line and his brow furrowed as his eyes shifted from a glassy hazel to a deep forest green. She recognized the look, colored by anger.

"What are you?" He ground out through clenched teeth.

 _He knows. He knows. He knows._

She realised dumbly that she still had the muzzle of her gun pointed squarely at his chest, she released her hold on the trigger and rested it gently on the sheets. She couldn't bring herself to look at him, thumbing her palms nervously she could still feel the lingering heat coming from her hands.

"I asked you a question." His low voice dragged her back to the present. Rim looked up at the ceiling and let out a deep breath.

"I told you this was a bad idea." She heard herself say and Rim mentally smacked herself. _You're in so much shit and all you can think of to say is I told you so?_ Dean threw his hands up in the air and ran his fingers through his hair, then over his face, shaking his head slowly. Without taking his eyes off her he snatched his duffel off the floor and began throwing clothes into it.

"Would you believe me if I told you I didn't know?" She didn't know it was possible for him to look any more livid.

Dean glared down at her angrily. "What the hell do you mean you don't know. How can you not know?"

Rim brought her eyes up to meet his gaze and she took a deep, calming breath. "It's never been this bad before. I mean, it comes and goes. I've always run a little warm." She chuckled, trying to diffuse the tension. "I thought it was nothing-"

Dean threw his bag on the couch violently and raised his scorched and blistered palms to her face. "Does _this_ look like nothing?" He screamed. "Jesus christ." Dean spun and faced the wall, his fist connecting firmly with the plaster before resting his head against it.

She knew even before she opened her mouth that she shouldn't have. "Your father…he knew. He was the one that pulled me out of the fire when I was little. I couldn't have been more than five."

Dean stopped dead, his lower lip between his teeth to stop it from trembling.

"Bobby too. They made sure no one knew. When they found out what I could do they made me promise not to tell another soul. I don't think they could bring themselves to…" She paused, unable to say it. "I should never have come." Rim pushed herself off of the mattress and scooped up her shirt, pulling it over her head.

Dean took a shaky breath, running agitated hands through his hair. "Dad…Bobby, they knew what you could do?"

She heard the tremor in his voice, Rim stared at the floor and nodded.

"We salt and burn things like you! Why aren't you in the ground?" He screamed, his voice full of rage and betrayal.

Now she was angry. Rim's breath caught in her throat, she felt like she'd been punched in the gut. She had hoped Dean might understand the way John and Bobby seemed to, but she knew now. She had been on her way to the door, but she couldn't let that go.

"Hey! I wasn't finished!" Dean growled as he crossed the room in just a few strides, placing his hand on her shoulder and spinning her around to face him. Rim's open hand connected sharply with his face and the sound rang out like a gunshot.

"You think I didn't want to?" She screamed back, eyes filling with tears. "When John pulled me out of my family's house it was only _after_ it had burned to the ground. I was inside the whole time. I was the only thing that remained untouched." She felt his hand release her shoulder and she leaned heavily back against the wall. Her body slid down to rest on the floor and she placed her head on her knees, letting out a sarcastic laugh choked with grief. "So please, by all means. Salt and burn me, Dean. I doubt a little seasoning will make much difference." She wrapped her arms around her stomach and took another shuddering breath.

"Jesus, Rim…" Dean's voice was soft now. Surprised, she looked back up into his face and saw the red mark blossoming along his jaw where she slapped him. His eyes were full of pity, and guilt.

"You know I killed him; my father. He tried to get me out." The words fell out of her mouth in rush. "I didn't mean to. I swear I didn't mean it, but it must have been me. You've seen what I can do." Her voice trailed off into a muffled cry as she buried her head in her hands and wept.

When she felt Dean sit next to her on the hotel room floor she wished he would just get it over with, she was sick of running. She felt a hand on her back and she flinched visibly, but Dean only pulled her closer to him, rubbing small slow circles on her shoulders. At first she didn't know what to do with herself and he could feel her stiffen at his touch.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, hushing her while wrapping his strong arm around her shoulder. He began stroking her arm through the fabric of her shirt with his thumb. Rim sighed, hiccupping through her tears.

"No, I'm sorry. I should never have come. I didn't mean to hurt you." She mumbled, wiping her nose on her sleeve. "I promised Bobby that I would come if he ever called. When Garth called instead and I heard you needed help I owed it to John, and Bobby." She sniffed, looking up into his eyes. "I swear Dean, on my life, I don't know what I am and I find it just as repulsive as you do."

His face contorted into a scowl. "You're not repulsive. You just scared the shit out of me. If Bobby trusted you, and my Dad trusted you…I guess, for now, that's good enough for me."

Rim took a deep breath, his scent filling her lungs. "Well, nice to meet you." She held out her hand in a mock handshake. "I'm Karima the ugly crier." at her declaration Dean threw his head back against the hotel room wall and laughed out loud, grabbing her hand and twining his fingers with hers.

"C'mon, I've got an idea of something that'll cheer you up." He rested his head on top of hers and squeezed her tightly. "We're going camping! Let's go hunt some evil sons of bitches and raise a little hell."

Rim squeezed him back, "I've got marshmallows in my trunk and don't you worry, I'm a pro at campfires."


	7. Yahtzee! That's Our Monster

Yahtzee! That's Our Monster

Dean threw his duffel in the back of the Impala and slammed the trunk while Rim sat on the back of her coupe lacing up her snow boots. The storm front was well on its way and the snow was already a few inches deep. Dean tugged his winter jacket on and just as he zipped up he felt a chunk of snow hit him square in the back of the head.

"Dude!" He yelped, wiping the snowflakes stuck in the back of his hair. "Not cool." Rim was doubled over, cackling. His features softened, watching her face light up. Her mischievous expression was a welcome change from last night.

 _How could I have ever thought…._

"Don't start something you can't finish." He yelled over the wind. Dean felt something flutter inside his chest, something he hadn't felt in so long it took him a moment to recognise, his warning as much self-directed as it was intended for her. Rim pretended not to hear him as finished cleaning the snow off of her windshield.

Rim was perfectly distracted, "So are you going to follow me to the site or am I following you?" She called over the top of her car. Dean snuck around the back of the Porsche and slowly edged up behind her, placing his feet gently in the powdery snow.

"Dean?" She called, turning to her left to look over at the Impala. "Where did you go?"

He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face, she was so screwed. Dean jumped up, sliding across the hood of her Porsche, and tackled her into a snowbank. Rim screamed bloody murder and they struggled blindly in the snow for dominance. Rim, being much smaller, was pinned in seconds. Dean leaned over her, knees on either side of her chest, holding her to the ground.

"You give up?" He panted, his breath coming out in puffs of steam.

"Never!" She struggled futilely against him, using her legs as leverage to push her chest up against his thighs. Dean smirked and wrapped both of her wrists in one large hand, scooping up snow with the other and unceremoniously jamming the handful up Rim's shirt.

"OH MY GOD!" She shrieked, "UNCLE! UNCLE! UNCLE!" Rim writhed beneath him as Dean doubled over laughing, releasing her and rolling off into the snow pile.

"You booger!" She launched herself to her feet, flapping her jacket and shirt back and forth to release the trapped clumps. Dean dusted the snow from his jeans as he stood, smirking.

"Come on now, you had to know it was coming." Rim shrugged the rest of the snow out of her shirt and punched him in the shoulder.

"You're following me now. That's that." Dean watched her walking away and felt that unfamiliar sensation creep up into his chest again and shook his head, forcing it down.

 _Not smart, Dean. Not smart._

* * *

As Rim pulled up to the edge of the woods she gently pumped the brakes. Snow tires or not this weather was miserable. She didn't mind it as she was always warm, but she could tell as Dean pulled up next to her and threw the Impala into park that he was not happy.

"This weather is getting out of hand." He mumbled, slamming the door of the Impala and pulling up the hood of his black jacket. He was dressed for the weather in everything except snow pants, claiming he, "Didn't do anything but denim," in that area. Rim watched him stuff his gloved hands in his pockets and look bleakly off into the line of trees.

"Bet you wish you'd packed snow pants now, don't 'cha?" She snarked.

"C'mon, grab your shit and let's get this over with. I'm freezing my stones off." Dean shouldered his duffel and Rim rummaged in the back of her coupe for her winter tent, tarp, and camping pack.

She went camping all the time when she didn't feel like making nice with the locals. Sometimes it was more pleasant to spend the night under the stars than under a water stained, non-smoking, drop ceiling. Dean looked over his shoulder and waited a few minutes for Rim to catch up, her legs were much shorter than his and the snow was thick.

"Give me that." He gestured at her tent bag, she was near buried under equipment. Rim tried to walk past him, but he snatched her by the hood of her jacket and grabbed the supplies out of her hands before she could stop him. "I can't believe you're even considering us camping out here."

Rim sighed heavily, "This is the only time the woods won't be flooded with civilians and we'll have a real chance at taking this thing out without someone getting caught in the middle."

Dean waved her forward, stopping to pull his phone out of his pocket, "I'm gonna call Sammy, you go on ahead. I'll be right behind you."

Rim looked over her shoulder expectantly. "Are you sure? I don't want to get separated."

"I couldn't lose you if I tried." Dean gestured to the deep tracks in the snow. "Besides, your little legs aren't going to get you very far." Rim rolled her eyes and readjusted her pack, trudging forward. The phone rang twice before his brother answered.

"Dean?" Sammy's voice crackled, the connection was already shaky.

"Yeah, Sammy. It's me." He assured him. "We're headed into Black Forest. I wanted to touch base before I lost service. Do you have any news on our Hannibal Lecter? I don't want to be flying blind." Dean pulled up his jeans, already damp from the weather.

Dean heard paperwork shuffling on the other side of the phone and Sammy clearing his throat. "Yeah, actually. So apparently you're looking for a Baykok or a Pau'guk."

"Bless you." Dean shivered.

"Funny…be serious Dean, this thing is nothing to laugh about. The lore dates this thing back to the late 1800s at the earliest." There was more rustling and clicking before Sammy continued, "Apparently it was once a hunter in an indigenous tribe, the exact origin isn't clear, but he froze to death in a particularly rough winter."

Dean leaned into a strong gust of wind, "I know how he feels."

"Well listen to this, he blamed the other members of his tribe for his death. His hatred was so strong that even though his body passed on, his lust for revenge on his fellow hunters willed his spirit to stay in his body."

Dean was watching Rim out of the corner of his eye, making sure she didn't get too far ahead, "That's great, so this guy's been walking around pissed for about 150 years?"

"Yeah, apparently it not only eats it's victim's livers, but it has some kind of poison that will cause the victim to go into…some kind of pseudo-coma?" Sam grumbled, more clicking and shuffling, "Here we go, it uses a silver knife to cut into its victims and remove their livers, replacing it with a small stone. That stone will keep the poor bastard alive for a few days until their body essentially realises it's liver has been hijacked. They go pretty quickly after that."

"Yahtzee! That's our monster." Dean pumped his fist up and down, shuffling from foot to foot trying to keep warm.

"Dean, please be careful. This thing only goes after other hunters or warriors, you and Rim are optimal targets."

"That makes sense considering it's other victims." Dean mumbled, recounting the other hunter, the cop and the other poor dead bastards in the town morgue.

Sam continued morosely, "It's considered to be one of the greater undead creatures by the Chippewa and Algonquin and it's armed with arrows and a….club."

"Awesome. So how do we gank undead Katniss?" Dean started walking after Rim, she was beginning to get a little too far away for his liking.

"You're not going to like this…" Sam muttered.

Dean could barely hear Sammy now, "I'm losing service Sammy, just say it."

"There's no real definitive answer, there are some sources that say break it into pieces and burn it to ashes. Others say iron or silver?" Sam sighed heavily, "I'd just go with all three to be safe." Dean caught up to Rim and put his hand on her shoulder to slow her down. She looked up into his face expectantly and saw he was still on the phone.

"What's he got?" Rim whispered. Dean put his finger to his lips and listened as the signal got harder and harder to hear.

"Sammy, I can barely hear you…." Dean raised his voice, "Sam?"

The signal toned in his ear and Dean cursed under his breath, he was about to put the phone back in his pocket when he saw that he had an email from Sam with a few attachments. Dean opened the first one and his brow furrowed intently.

Rim craned her neck to look over his shoulder at the screen and groaned audibly when she saw it, "Well that doesn't look like fun at all."

Dean stuffed his phone back into his jeans and put his glove back on, pushing Rim forward with his other hand, "C'mon kiddo. We're going to have to get all set up before nightfall and we've still got a ways to go."


End file.
